A Last Few Words
by SweetSinger2010
Summary: In Thrawn's custody, Hera prays Kanan won't try and rescue her. She knows he will. And she knows it's the end of the line for them. Post-Rebel Assault.


A/N: Christmas is over…back to the angst. This is a tragic follow-up to "Rebel Assault." I think it's wildly unlikely that anything like this will happen; it was just an abstract idea. Don't think about it too hard or ask questions. (And definitely don't listen to Sia's "My Love" repeatedly as you read this.) Just….Kanera.

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A Last Few Words

Thrawn's treatment of her was much, much more humane than she expected, and that both relieved and frightened her. She'd been given water and ration bars, a tawdry blanket which she rolled up as a pillow to support her head on the rigid bunk, and a medic had even come in to evaluate her condition. Hera knew it only meant Thrawn wasn't _done_ yet, that he was saving his worst for last, and that he wanted her to watch. And, she thought with a shudder, he'd be watching _her,_ eager to gauge her reaction, measure her, analyze her, see how far he could bend her before she'd break.

Well, she had news for Thrawn. She wasn't going to give him a Force-forsaken thing.

She'd been in custody a little over forty-eight hours. She knew that because she counted the guard changes outside her cell. They operated in six-hour shifts, and there had been eight changes so far. Thrawn had been in just once, a syringe full of sedatives with him whose intended purpose was to dull her mind and loosen her tongue, test her resilience and resolve. She passed the test with flying colors; she talked to Thrawn plenty, to be sure, but she hadn't uttered a single useful syllable. It would only be a matter of time until he came back with something much more potent. She steeled her mind and tried to rest as best she could. She knew she'd need every ounce of strength for whatever Thrawn was planning next.

Hera lay with her back to the door, knees drawn up slightly. She moved as little as possible. Each tiny shift left her in blinding pain. After she was captured and adrenaline stopped coursing, she realized just how brutal an ordeal she'd been through. She couldn't remember a time when her body had endured so much in such a brief period. She was glad there was no mirror in her cell; if there was, she'd have tried to look at the bruises on her back and sides, resulting from the blows dealt to her by Rukh. She'd have tried to look at the bruises across her collarbones, ribs, and breasts, resulting from her body slamming against her restraint harness when her X-Wing crashed. She'd have tried to look at her mouth, the mouth with which she had kissed Kanan Jarrus—really, truly _kissed_ him—only three or four days ago. She'd have tried to imagine having that opportunity again.

In the back of her mind, she could hear AP-5 droning about the statistical improbability of such a thing. But she hardly needed his analysis; she knew for herself that this was the end of the line for them. That's why she'd said goodbye. _May the Force be with you._

Yet, uneasiness stirred in the pit of her stomach because she knew, she knew, she _knew_ that Kanan would try to come for her. It wasn't a vain hope or an expectation; she knew him, and she knew his resolve, and she knew how he loved her. And she knew that he'd come. She wished he wouldn't. She wished with all her heart that he'd let her go and not risk his own life. Hera could live with a lot—she could live with Thrawn's interrogations and torture, too, if it came to that. She could live with knowing her mission had failed. She could live with knowing she might never see the Empire fall. She could live with that—she figured she could die with it, too. But she could _not_ live with knowing that Kanan was walking into what had to be a trap laid by Thrawn. They'd been arrested before—both together and individually—and they'd manage to escape each and every time, but this was different. Hera could feel it in her bones. She hoped Kanan could, too. She hoped he wouldn't come. Each hour that passed without incident made her feel optimistic.

After an indeterminable amount of time, the cell door whooshed open, waking Hera from a light sleep. She opened her eyes but didn't stir. Nor did she turn over; it was either a stormtrooper or Thrawn standing there, and it wasn't worth the physical pain of moving to find out.

"Captain." The greeting was cool, polite. Thrawn, then. "Or is it 'general,' now? Do forgive me."

Hera wondered for a moment just _how the kriff_ Thrawn found out about her promotion. Had another pilot been captured after the crash? Had Mart and Chopper—? Hera squeezed her eyes shut, unable to think about it. "It is, and I do not."

"A very impressive achievement for someone of such youth," he continued, as if he hadn't heard her. "Though hardly surprising considering the extent of your abilities. In another time and place, I'd extend my congratulations to you, General Syndulla."

"Let's thank the Force we're not there," she snapped. She hated the way her name sounded as it fell from his lips.

"Yes," he mused. He stepped forward. "I've brought a visitor, general."

Hera stiffened; this was it. More interrogations. A probe droid, maybe? "No, thank you."

"I should clarify," Thrawn purred, "He is not here at my behest."

 _He._ Hera felt suddenly nauseous as her pulse and breathing accelerated. She was not surprised—devastated, but not surprised—to hear Kanan say calmly, "Hera."

She turned over then, slowly sitting up. The room pitched and rolled, and she had to rest her head on one drawn-up knee to keep from totally blacking out. What had the medic said? She felt her face drain of color and her hands go clammy as her nausea worsened. Severe concussion, that was it. She felt _bad_. She was reminded of a time in her early childhood when her body burned with fever and she couldn't keep anything down. Her mother had placed a cool cloth on the back of her neck and murmured gently in their native tongue, _Respire, Hera. Respire._

"Breathe, Hera." Kanan was beside her. When had that happened? His fingers brushed the back of her neck. "Just breathe."

"She has refused medication for pain," Thrawn said disdainfully. "Her suffering is pointless. Perhaps you can change her mind."

Hera was only distantly aware of Kanan helping her lie down with her head in his lap. She was, however, _very_ aware of the dangerous edge in his voice when he spoke again. With their bodies touching, she could feel his anger resonate through her. "You don't know her very well if you think that."

"I'll leave you." Thrawn turned. "Two hours, Master Jarrus."

The door slid shut and they were alone. Looking up at him, Hera studied the strong line of his jaw and it was set, uncompromising. Dread stirred in her stomach along with the nausea. "Please tell me," she said hoarsely, "you did not get yourself arrested just to get thrown in here with me. _Please_ , Kanan."

A ghost of a smile turned his lips and he looked down at her. "I did not get myself arrested just to get thrown in here with you," he affirmed. "I walked right in."

Her throat constricted. "That's worse. That is _so much worse._ " She felt herself trembling and she couldn't stop it. "I was—I was comforting myself with the thought that you were safe and that you would _stay_ safe."

"Just how long did you expect that to last?"

"I'd hoped Thrawn would execute me before I had a chance to find out."

That one, cold, blunt statement shattered his bravado and made his face fall. "You don't mean that," he said after far too long.

"I do." Hot tears streaked across her temples and fell into his lap. "I absolutely do."

He stroked her forehead gently. "Nobody dies today, Hera."

"As much as I would like for that to be true—"

"Thrawn and I came to an agreement." His jaw tightened. "He's letting you go."

 _Two hours, Master Jarrus._ Numb realization set in. _Oh, Kanan,_ she thought, panicked. _What did you do?_ "Help me sit up."

She eased to a sitting position, gritting her teeth against the pain when he placed a supporting hand on her back. He squeezed her hand, keeping her steady for the seconds it took for her dizziness to pass. When she was finally able to turn and look at him, she drank in every tiny detail; the flecks of grey beginning to pepper his beard, the uneven lift of his mouth on one side, the hazy color of his eyes beneath the cataracts, the fine laugh lines which would have someday become crow's feet.

He must have felt her gaze on him, because he said very, very quietly, "You know, when I'm being honest with myself, I know I can't remember exactly what you look like." His fingers gently swept over her face. "Not anymore. The memories are hazy."

She leaned against him and he held her. She wondered, with no small amount of sickening dread, how long it would be before she forgot _his_ face after…after…

"It happened so gradually, I didn't even notice," he said, as if he knew. "What kept me sane was being able to hear your voice. You always…" He trailed off, humming thoughtfully. "That's what attracted me to you, you know, on Gorse."

"Gorse," she echoed. Her mind swam in the images of that far-away place and time. "What?"

He nodded, smiling so tenderly she thought her heart was going to break. "I heard your voice before I ever saw your face," he explained. "Remember? I was standing outside that bar and you were just there in the street." He closed his eyes, trying to see the memory. "You turned to me and asked about a repulsorlift entrance to Moonglow. I've _never_ forgotten that. And of course I couldn't come up with an answer, so you went off to go find it by yourself and I was a mess right then and there watching you go. I needed to know who that voice belonged to."

Hera blinked, stunned and humbled and overwhelmingly sad. "I never knew that's why…I just thought you were…you followed me," she murmured, dazed. She thought of an ancient adage: _Curiosity killed the tooka._ She dragged her eyes up to meet his. "When you followed me on Gorse that night, you followed me _here._ "

"I know," he said simply. "And I'd do it again, Hera."

She tipped her head back and cupped his face in her hands. "Kanan—"

"I'd do it again," he repeated slowly. "Every fight, every job, every moment with you, even the Rebellion—I'd do it again."

It was everything she'd ever needed to hear him say, soothing fears and quieting insecurities she hardly knew she had. A part of her, too tiny to be acknowledged, had always wondered whether he'd make a different choice—if he'd choose to go back and erase the blindness, the pain, the hardship of the last eleven years—given the chance. She knew she'd never been part of his plan.

She just blinked at him, whispering his name over and over. He drew her close, her face buried in his chest, and she breathed him in. A dam burst somewhere deep inside Hera's heart and she couldn't stop it when she heard a sob rise from her throat. Kanan tightened the circle of his arms around her and she gasped in pain—she'd forgotten about the crash, the fight, all of it. He let go almost instantly, an apology on his lips.

"No, please—hold me, Kanan," she choked, "Tight."

He wanted to. It showed in every line on his face. He hesitated. "But you're hurt."

She thought, _That's never going to change now._ "I don't care." She held her mouth at his jaw. "Please."

He held her tightly, just the way she wanted—so tightly that her body ached, she could feel her heart beating against his chest, she couldn't tell where she stopped and he began. Her mind was reeling, screaming. _It should have always been this way._

"We don't have much time," Kanan said into her shoulder, voice thick.

"Kanan, what did you do?" She couldn't imagine what he'd said to Thrawn or how. Coldness squeezed around her heart.

He paused. "I got what I wanted: you, safe."

"That's it?"

"That's all you need to know." She knew he wasn't saying that Thrawn was going to kill him. She knew he wasn't giving voice to the hope that he'd be executed right away instead of being sent to Mustafar. They both knew he couldn't handle that again. And still, he was worried about her. "You have to go, Hera, when it's time." He pulled away, resting his hands on her shoulders. The darkness in his tone left no room for argument. "Promise me."

Tears pricked her eyes. "I should have—I should have promised you a lot of things."

"Hera." He cupped her chin, lifting it. He managed to grin, and it was almost sincere. "I loved things the way they were."

She nodded, understanding that they didn't need to say all the things they'd never said. They had less than two hours to spend with each other and eleven years' worth of space to fill up with words; they couldn't. They clung to each other instead, the contact they shared saying more than words ever could.

Only when Thrawn came, flanked by two stormtroopers, did they separate. Hera felt naked and cold when Kanan brushed his fingers on hers and then let go. She let the stormtroopers take her by the arms and haul her to her feet and lead her to the door. Thrawn stood by, face seemingly impassive. Hera knew better.

Outside the cell, at the end of the hall, she saw Sabine waiting, fingers twitching at her sides as she quelled the instinct to draw her blasters. She watched Hera with an unwavering gaze. (Later, Hera would wonder how Kanan managed to get Sabine allowed inside.) Hera was glad she wouldn't have to leave alone, to deal with this alone—

She heard Thrawn from behind her, addressing Kanan, and she stopped, digging her heels into the floor. "Wait," she said breathlessly. "Wait—please." She craned her neck and saw Thrawn nod to the troopers escorting her. As soon as they let her go, she twisted around. Kanan stood and walked toward her. Her heart hammered in her chest, nauseatingly fast.

"Hera, go." His voice held a warning edge.

Her mind screamed at her: _This is the last time you'll ever see him._

She inhaled sharply and her eyes pricked with tears. She let them fall. She didn't care who saw her cry—she had to tell him one more thing. "I lied, you know."

His brows drew together and Hera could tell he was fighting tears himself. "About what?"

"When you asked what I want from my life when…and I said I'd never thought about it. I lied, Kanan. I lied."

For a second, he didn't speak and nothing happened. Then he bent down and kissed her hungrily, desperately, crushing their lips together. Hera tasted salt; his tears or hers? She couldn't tell. They parted after too long and not long enough, breathing unevenly, taking a step back from one another.

"I lied," she whispered again.

"I know." He touched her cheek and the contact was seared there forever. "Now _go_."

She nodded and she turned away, piercing Thrawn with an icy glare. He _almost_ seemed to shrink back as he motioned for the stormtroopers to escort her out of the cell once more. They held her by the arms and she didn't care that they could feel her trembling. She kept her eyes on Sabine, focusing on just putting one foot in front of the other as she heard Thrawn in the cell behind her, discussing with Kanan the terms of his impending execution. It was all she could do to keep from running back to him. It must have showed on her face.

"Keep walking toward me," Sabine implored, eyes darting. Hera blinked, nodding. All at once, she was gripping the young Mandalorian's hand, and the stormtroopers were no longer holding her. Sabine slipped an arm around her waist, though whether it was to keep her upright or to keep her from turning back, she wasn't really sure.

She heard him say her name for the last time. "Hera!" She didn't stop walking, didn't turn around—couldn't. She nodded just slightly and he continued, completely irreverent. "Give 'em hell."

She rolled her shoulders back, set her jaw with a steely determination that would stay there for the rest of her life. They'd pay for Kanan's blood. "Oh, I intend to, love. I intend to."

And from the Battle of Scarif to the Battle of Jakku, she did exactly that, with his face and the last few things they said to each other always in the forefront of her mind.

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A/N: _I made myself very sad writing this._ Review, if you please! I'm dying to know what you thought—good or bad!


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